Flash Burn
by i luv ewansmile
Summary: Injured on the job, Michael finds himself in a world of darkness.
1. If You Play With Fire

**Title: **Flash Burn

**Author:** i luv ewansmile

**Summary: **Injured on the job, Michael finds himself in a world of darkness.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly I do not own Burn Notice. This is just for fun, not for profit. I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.

**Author's Note:** This is a little different than my usual stuff. I had originally written it in Michael's POV but I didn't like it, so I changed it. But there still may be a few mistakes I didn't catch. Please review and tell me what you think.

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><p><strong>Part 1: If you play with fire, you will get burned, literally.<strong>

Even though a flash burn from welding isn't exactly a burn from an open flame or an explosive, it still hurts like hell. And it's just as dangerous and can take away something very precious to you, such as for example your eye sight.

By the time Michael Westen had finished welding the metal pieces reinforcing the inside of a vehicle to be used on a job Sam and him were working, he had unintentionally done enough damage that he'd regret ever agreeing to help Sam out with this job in the first place.

Sliding off the face shield, his eyes are immediately assaulted by the intense Miami sunlight. He blinks, squinting his eyes against the stinging rays and reaches for his sunglasses. Even with them on they don't provide enough protection from the light or soothe the sand paper feeling of his eyes.

He quickly scales the steps of the loft and goes in search of a cold wet washcloth. Lying down on the bed he lays the cold compress against his eyes and waits. The coolness soothes some but by now his eyes are burning. An hour later and still no ease from the pain, he admits defeat and reluctantly calls Fiona.

A couple hours later, he lets Fiona take him by the hand and lead him out of the ER, needing her assistance since he's unable to visually navigate by himself.

_Smack!_

Fiona's gasp was enough to tell Michael that she didn't intentionally walk him into the glass door but he still couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped his lips.

He stumbles backward in shock. His arms fly out to brace himself as he starts to tumble backwards. Fiona's hands latch onto his forearms and steady him.

"Ow," Michael complains louder than he probably should have but he was already growing frustrated with his predicament. He brings his hand up to touch the sore spot on his forehead and his nose where they had collided with the door.

Fiona's laughter rings in his ears and he drops his hand and turns in her direction and makes a face which he had meant to be a stern glare but Fiona's soft laughter increases in volume.

He pushes forward, brushing past her, holding his hands out in front of him. They come into contact with the annoying door but this time he pauses, giving the motion sensor enough time to read his presence. He waits patiently as the door slides open and he steps out into the sunlight.

Fiona has pulled the Charger up to the curb before she came in to drive Michael back home. He can hear her walking beside him and the creak of the door as she opens it for him. He frowns as he feels her hands as they guide him into the car, making sure he didn't hit his head on the way down.

Thanks to his run in with the door, now not only do his eyes itch and burn, his head is throbbing with a merciless headache.

He feels for the lever on the side of the passenger seat, finding it, he pulls it, leaning the seat back far enough so he can rest comfortably.

After a few minutes he snaps, not able to take it any longer and fingers the bandage over his eyes, rubbing at it. "Stop it," Fiona growls, but Michael can hear the smile in her voice. He pauses his rubbing for a second before resuming.

The swift pop to his hand makes him feel like a child being reprimanded for stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar right before dinner. The pop did the trick though. He lays his hand down on his lap and focuses on the sting of pain there on his skin and imagines the red finger prints that most likely colored his hand.

Michael clenches his fingers into a fist and relaxes them and does it again, and again. He starts to do it again when a soft hand slides into his and holds on tight.

He sighs, breathing out through his nose, "This is going to be a very long two days." She only squeezes his hand tighter in reply and doesn't let go until they reach the loft or what Michael assumed was the loft, since he couldn't actually see where they were going.

He steps out of the car and closes the door and stands in place, not going anywhere. As a spy he had learned to be constantly aware of his surroundings, until today he had never really realized nor fully appreciated how much his sight meant to him.

He can hear the wind blowing through the palms, and feel the sun upon his skin. He stands imagining the layout outside the loft, the gate, the car, the stair case.

"You coming?" Fiona's question brings Michael out of his thoughts. He hesitates for a second before stepping in the direction he heard her voice.

He walks carefully around the front of the car and comes to stand in front of Fiona. He reaches his hand out and his fingers brush against the hot metal railing of the steps leading up to the door.

"Shall we?" She says sweetly and loops her arm over his and he can hear her step onto the metal step.

The thought crosses his mind to shoot her a witty comment asking her if she intended on walking him into something again or worse yet, off of something but then he shoots down the notion less he planted the idea in her head.

They make it up and inside without a hitch, which Michael was grateful for. He had never felt like such an invalid in his life. Shrouded in darkness he felt a growing sense of unease as he shuffled across the loft with tentative steps.

Fiona must have been still, watching him because he couldn't hear her footsteps, just his own.

His shins connect with the mattress he called his bed and he turns and flops down upon it. He can hear Fiona as she moves across the floor and then the sound of the water tap being turned on and a glass being filled up.

He flinches at the sound of the glass being set down on the tiny table next to his bed. He had forgotten how light on her feet Fiona was when she wanted to be.

"You should get some rest," her voice floats over him like a soft ocean tide. It's pleasant but doesn't wash away the burn of his eyes or the ache in his head.

He protests softly, "Can't. Got a job to finish," and moves to sit up but Fiona pushes him back down gently.

"I can handle it," she says and Michael can hear the cockiness in her voice, and nearly smiles.

"I thought you had some shopping to do," he questions her. He would have raised an inquisitive eyebrow if it didn't hurt so much and it wasn't trapped under a semi-pressure dressing covering his eyes.

"I do. But you said this was a two man job you and Sam were doing. Well, I figure any job for two men can be easily accomplished by one woman." She struts easily to the door, the sound of her high heeled wedges give Michael the impression that she is excited, enjoying the challenge.

"I'll call Sam and get it taken care of," she says opening the door.

"Thanks Fi." Michael calls out softly. She lingers for a moment before replying, "You're welcome Michael. Feel better. And be more careful next time. You're not much use to me if you can't see."

And there it is, the comment he had been waiting for. She hadn't berated him yet for his idiocy. He should have known better.

Michael groans and curls up under the covers and eventually drifts off into a light sleep.

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><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	2. More Paranoid Than Usual

**Part 2: Fear Of The Dark Means More Paranoid Than Usual**

Hours later Michael wakes to the sound of his cell phone ringing. It takes four rings for him to locate it in his pants lying on the floor next to the bed.

He holds it in his hand and feels it vibrate. He hesitates before opening it, not knowing who was calling.

"Hello," he says tentatively before clearing the sleep from his throat.

"Hey Mikey," Sam greets cheerfully.

"Hey Sam," he says, less enthused, slowly waking up and finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than the pain of his eyes and the headache that was still there.

"Listen, everything worked like a charm. Me and Fiona just wrapped things up and we thought we'd celebrate. We're on the way to pick you up. Dinner at the Carlito sound good?"

"Dinner? What time is it?" Michael suddenly felt disoriented not being able to read the watch on his wrist or read it off the cell phone in his hand or even being able to look outside to see if it was light or dark.

"Almost nine. You all right brother?" Sam asks trying to hide the worry in his voice, Michael heard it anyway. But he ignored his question.

"Everything went according to plan? How did the car hold up?" Michael asks curious but still fighting off the feeling of claustrophobia of being trapped in the personal darkness of his head.

"Like clockwork. Oh and the reinforcement you did on that car, man, that car could take down a building-" Sam sounds impressed.

"It should have," Michael interrupts, "It took four hours to weld," he mutters disdainfully.

"Which it did. Well, it took out a wall anyway. Made for a great element of surprise, they never saw us coming. And the client is safe at home with his family." Sam sounds proud of himself.

"Good job Sam." Michael says and sits straight up when he hears a car pull up outside.

"Hang on a minute Sam, someone just pulled up," he says, reaching under his pillow for his gun, before sliding out of bed.

"It's okay, it's just us," Sam replies.

Michael lowers the gun to his side. "Okay, I'll be down in a minute." He hangs up and feels around with his feet until he kicks his pants lying on the floor. He pulls them on before sliding on his shoes which he had found beside them.

His head snaps up and he aims his gun towards the sound of the door opening. "Easy, Michael. It's just me," Fiona calls out. He drops his arm and sits breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. Not being able to see is making him a bit disoriented and even more paranoid.

Michael shakes his head at the absurdity of his reaction. He knew Sam and Fiona were already outside, it made sense Fiona would come in and walk him down to the car but he was still on edge. Someone had intruded into his home and he didn't see them coming. He was vulnerable and he knew it.

"Hey," Fiona says softly near Michael and he grits his teeth against the feelings welling inside him. Her hand gently cups his face.

"You all right?" She asks carefully, but already knowing the answer. _Why does everyone keep asking me that?_ Michael wonders.

"Yeah." He lies but doesn't move. He can hear her bend down and feel her tying the laces on his shoes. She tugs him up gently and her hands slide over his chest, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt, making him presentable.

"Come on," she requests, and for the third time today Michael let her lead him by the hand and they walk out the door but not before Michael trails his hand along the workbench and snatches a pair of sunglasses that he knew he kept there.

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><p>At Carlito's it's hard for Michael to concentrate, there is so much going on. He turns his head in one direction before swinging it slowly in another. He could easily count eleven different conversations going on, from the bartender on his far right to the older lady in the back. So many different voices, and noises, it was all becoming a little overwhelming to the point he didn't realize someone was directing their conversation at him.<p>

"Relax Michael and eat." The voice belongs to Fiona who is sitting beside him.

He brings his hand up and massages his temple with his fingers before straightening the very black pair of Ray Ban sunglasses on his face, which he hoped was effectively hiding the bandages covering his eyes.

"You look fine," Fiona assures him and Michael can hear Sam snort.

"Yeah, no one's staring at all at the guy wearing sunglasses inside a restaurant in the middle of the night," he laughs but it comes to a sudden stop, "Hey, watch it sister!" Sam warns and Michael smiles to himself, realizing Fiona must have kicked Sam under the table.

Michael slowly hovers his hand over the table until he feels his sandwich underneath his fingertips. He picks it up and takes a bite. He keeps it in his hands between bites, not laying it down; it was just easier that way. Michael blocks out what Sam is rambling on about as he finishes what he's eating and goes in search of his drink. His fingers part and move slowly out almost like he was going to shake somebody's hand.

It was then that Michael realized the occupants at his table had gone silent. Then there's the sound of a beer bottle sliding across the hard wood table and Michael feels the cold slickness of the bottle being pushed into his hand.

Michael grabs it, wrapping his fingers around it and pulls it to him, trying hard to resist the urge to chunk it across the room and have it shatter against the floor. Instead he takes a long hard draw from it and swallows the beer down.

Michael rises to get up and pushes his chair back roughly and moves to walk away but Fiona catches him by the arm and ends up walking with him, guiding him through the tables and people.

"Where are you going?" She questions him, pulling hard on his arm forcing him to stop, so he stops. He didn't know where he was going. There wasn't anywhere he could go to escape this.

He hears a couple walking by, hear their jovial laughter, it makes Michael sick to his stomach. He feels Fiona push him out of their way, and he feels the rough cement wall behind him.

"Why are you acting like this? Why are you letting this bother you so much? You're going to be okay, back to your normal self in a few days." She questions him like a small child who can't behave while with their mother is out in public. She had that embarrassed but concerned tone working for her that Michael nearly wanted to talk to her but he brushes her hands off his arms and sighs.

"Come sit back down," she urges after a moment but Michael stays rooted in place defiantly. "I want to go home," he states finally. "Fine," she states passive aggressively and drags him by the hand to the car.

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><p>The ride back to his loft is done much in silence, Sam chatters but Michael doesn't pay much attention to him. The car comes to a halt and everyone's still for a moment. Michael can hear Fi as she opens the door and steps out. Before he can make a move for it Sam calls out to him, "Mikey?" "Yeah, Sam," he says. "You know, this isn't a permanent thing." Michael nods his head softly in acknowledgement, and tells him softly, "Night Sam," and closes the door.<p>

Michael can hear Fiona as she walks out of the bathroom, she asks, "So what do you want to do now?" He ignores her question and merely stretches further out on the bed. She wordlessly crawls into bed beside him. The bed dips further as she snuggles up closer and drapes her arm across his chest. He sighs relaxing and brings his arm to rest across her shoulders. They don't say another word but try to sleep.

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><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>That was part two. Please leave me a review and tell me what you think. :)


	3. Why Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

**Author's Note: An extra special thank you goes out to DaisyDay for her wonderful help and support with this chapter. Thank you, I appreciate it!**

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><p><strong>Part 3: Why Are You Afraid Of The Dark?<strong>

The crack of gunfire in his dream jolts Michael awake. He lays there breathing hard and fast, his hands going to his torso grasping wounds that aren't there. He makes the effort to slow his breathing and listens carefully to the white noise of the loft. He can hear the refrigerator humming off to his far right, and Fiona's soft breathing right next to him. He turns his head in her direction and tries to discern whether he had woken her or not.

After a moment he slowly rises into a sitting position, swinging his feet off the side of the bed, he rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Carefully he stands and runs a hand through his hair before slowly heading in the direction of the bathroom.

He shuffles blindly with his hands out in front of him. He takes his time, hyperaware of the noise his footsteps were making in the still of the night. His toe catches the edge of the staircase and he has to bite the back of his hand to keep from crying out. After a second of recuperation he removes his hand and he whispers, "Damn it," in frustration and pain. He leans his forehead against the railing and breathes through the pain.

"Michael?" Fiona calls out his name softly.

He lifts his head and throws it back in exasperation as he realizes he's woken Fiona up.

He frowns as he listens as she walks over to him but her soft hands on his back ease the frown from his face with a sigh.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispers.

"It's alright," she whispers back.

"No, it isn't," he complains, "I can't even go to the bathroom by myself."

Fiona simply wraps her arms across his chest from behind and squeezes. He relaxes back into her embrace for a minute before informing her quietly, "Fi, I've still got to pee."

She smiles against his back before stepping back and guides him with one hand on his back to the tiny loft bathroom and stands by the door waiting for him to finish.

"Sounds like you hit inside the bowl this time," she taunts. Michael's cheeks flush pink. "Be glad," she continues, "I was going to make you clean it this time if it was anything like what I found last night."

Fiona moves to lead him back to bed but Michael pulls out of her grasp, "I've got it," he declares and cautiously pads barefoot across the hard wood floors.

Fiona lets him go but as quiet as she can she slides up right behind him to be there if he needed her. Michael turns around so quickly Fiona bumps into him. Michael sighs in annoyance having caught her, wanting to do this on his own.

"Fine," Fiona huffs and lets him go on his own.

Suddenly she gasps, but it's not enough to warn Michael as he trips over her sandal. He falls hard and manages to land on the other shoe. He rolls over onto his side, gritting his teeth. Fiona slides to her knees beside him and lays her hands on him. Her hand hits the tender spot where he had fallen on the high heeled wedge and he gasps. She quickly lifts his t-shirt and tells him, "It's going to bruise."

"You think!" Michael cries out in irritation as he slowly picks himself up and hobbles the last few feet and crawls into bed.

Fiona rises to her feet and mutters all the way to the freezer, "You are so stubborn. All you had to do was let me help you." She grabs a bag of frozen peas and a dish towel and returns and shoves the makeshift icepack roughly against his side.

"Well if you didn't leave your shoes lying around," Michael counters.

"Shut up and go back to sleep," she orders, effectively ending the argument.

After a long period of silence, Michael can't seem to go back to sleep and he can tell by the way Fiona is tossing and turning that she's wide awake as well.

"What time is it?" He asks softly, his earlier frustration having disappeared.

Fiona rolls over and picks up her cell phone off the nightstand and reads it, "Almost three," she replies.

They both lay there silently after that. Michael tries to clear his mind and let his body pull him under into sleep but flashes of the images that plagued his dreams keeps him awake. Eventually Fiona's soft breathing and the comfort of her company lull him to sleep.

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><p>Michael wakes up again, this time with the sound of blood pounding in his ears and the taste of bile rising in his throat. He tries to swallow it down when a hand reaches out and touches him. He jerks up from the bed and ends up crashing to the floor, banging his head on the way down.<p>

He lies still, giving up, whispering a phrase that Fiona couldn't understand. The floorboard creaks as she slides off the bed and crouches beside him. Michael curls in on himself holding his arms up to protect against the coming blow. When it doesn't come, he slowly begins to realize where he is and that he was coming out of a dream.

"Fiona?" He calls out like a lost child.

"I'm here. You're okay Michael," she soothes him, gently lifting him off the floor and lies back down with him this time pulling him close to her and rubbing soft circles on his back.

Fiona's soft voice whispers in his ear, "What happened to you? Why are you afraid of the dark?"

Michael gives a short shake of his head, not willing to share that nightmare.

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><p>After he woke up the second time he couldn't sleep. He wouldn't let himself sleep. So he's been awake for a while. Fiona's soft sighs beside him tell him she's been asleep for at least a couple of hours. If he figured it up right, it should be daylight soon.<p>

Michael had cleaned and reassembled his SIG twice before he grew bored with it. He had already been practicing cleaning it blindfolded before now so it wasn't much of a challenge.

Next, he moved to taking his frustration out on the pouching bag. This had inadvertently woken Fiona up. She had gotten dressed and went out to get them breakfast sensing that Michael needed some time alone.

Michael continues to punch and deliver kicks until his body is burning from the exertion. He wipes his hand across his brow and his fingers brush the gauze taped there and the temptation that precedes it leads him to the bathroom.

He uses his hands to guide him, touching a bench here, railing there, and makeshift shelf before feeling the bathroom door. He steps inside and feels around for a washcloth. He finds one and runs it under the cool water, and rings it out, washing the perspiration off his face and arms, delaying, resisting the urge to pull the bandage away from his eyes. Finally he lays the wash cloth down and peels back the tape slowly and stops, knowing the doctor had said to leave it own for two days and it's barely been a day but he couldn't resist.

"Michael!" Fiona yells out, stepping through the loft door. Michael hears the door as it swings open as she lets herself in.

"Damn," he curses under his breath, she has the damnedest sense of timing. He smoothes the tape back down quickly.

"Michael, what are you doing?" She says, gliding into the bathroom. He can feel her stare just as easily as he can feel her hands on his forearms.

"I'm brushing my teeth…" He reaches for his toothbrush, which doesn't seem to be there, "that is, if I can find my toothbrush."

"Uh huh," Fiona says and grabs it for him and smacks it into his hand.

"The doctor said two days. You've still got one to go Michael. You better behave yourself," she warns.

He smiles with his toothbrush in his mouth. She smacks him hard on his back. He coughs and spits out the toothpaste and complains, "Ouch."

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><p>They eat breakfast in silence and all he can think about is how he should have used a better cover story, croissants don't taste very good with the minty aftertaste of toothpaste.<p>

"What? You don't like your croissant?" Fiona pipes into his thoughts.

"No, it's fine," he says but his actions contradict his words as he slides his plate away from him.

"Did I ever tell you about the time one of my projects went off before the timer? And I was standing a little too close. I didn't get hurt physically. Well except for the fact that I couldn't hear for the rest of the day," Fiona says between bites.

"Yeah, I was there, remember?" Michael responds remembering one of their moments in Belfast.

"Oh, were you?" Fiona teases, "I don't remember."

So Michael helps fill her in, "I don't remember which was worse, that you couldn't hear what I was trying to say to you, or the fact that you're the worst lip reader on the planet," he says smirking at her huff of annoyance.

"Nope, still don't remember you there," she continues to aggravate him.

"Oh, of course you do, you yelled across the entire pub that I was into men!" Michael complains.

"Either way, the point is Michael I didn't let a little momentary hindrance, deprive me of living in the moment. And I got that trashy girl off of you."

"That trashy girl was our contact," Michael reminds her.

"Yeah well, she got a little too close," Fiona says in way of explanation. Michael smiles at her uncontained jealously.

"Thanks for breakfast Fi," He grins, changing the subject.

"You're welcome Michael, now if you'd finish getting dressed we can go shopping!" She seems to squeal in delight.

"Shopping?" Michael knows he sounds less then enthused but shopping with Fiona is a lot of work and expensive.

"Well if you don't wan't to do that…" She replies a little sullen, then her tone softens, "Hey, we can go down to the beach. Come on, it'll be fun!" Michael sighs resigned, and folds his arms, "Fine."

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><p>Michael has to admit it was quite a nice on the beach this morning. And it's sad to say that he can't quite remember the last time he came to a beach just to go to a beach.<p>

Although Fiona's already fussed that he didn't rub her suntan lotion in well enough. "It's not my fault," he defends himself.

"It kinda is. If you had been more careful with that welding torch you'd be able to see you missed rubbing in this spot," she reprimands.

"If Sam didn't make you take that job-" she starts again but Michael cut her off.

"Sam didn't make me doing anything," he counters.

"Exactly," she agrees and Michael knows he walked right into that one. So he tries a different tactic, "How about doing mine?" He asks and peels his shirt off.

"Oh, Michael, you practically glow. I'm going to start calling you snowflake as your code name. Here, lay down," she urges and he lies on his stomach with his head laying on top of his hands on the beach towel Fiona had spread across the sand.

She rubs the lotion in but continues to massage his back idly, "Michael, early this morning…"

"Fi. I don't want to talk about it," his voice is warm but firm.

"Fine, but I just want to know, you called out in your sleep, you said something, and it sounded like Russian."

Michael pauses a moment, breathing in and repeats the phrase in Russian softly.

"What does it mean?" Fiona asks carefully.

"Not the dark."

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><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry for the delay! Please leave a review and tell what you think!


	4. I'll Be Back In A Little While

**Part 4: I'll Be Back In A Little While**

Once returning from the beach, Michael is in desperate need of a shower. Fiona hovers by the sink as she watches Michael as he finds and hangs a towel on the curtain rod.

"Fi, I know you don't believe me but I have showered in the dark before," Michael says walking up to her with a smile and placing his hands on her shoulders and gently turning her around and pushing her out of the tiny bathroom and closes the door.

Michael reaches over and turns on the shower, it sputters to life. He sheds his clothes and steps into the shower.

He hisses as the hot water sends tingles of pain across the skin of his back, no doubt sun burned.

He pops the top of the bottle in his hand and pauses before bringing it up to his nose. He smells it and grins, knowing he'd picked up the right bottle. Careful not to get the bandage covering his eyes, wet, he squirts out the shampoo, feeling the gritty sand working its way out of his hair.

When he finishes he turns off the water, feeling refreshed and relaxed. He towels dry his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out of the bathroom.

He struts out across the loft toward the kitchen listening carefully for Fiona the entire time and doesn't seem to be able to hear her.

He pauses, hearing footsteps outside coming up the steps. He quickly finds the bed and slides his hand under his pillow and pulls out his gun. The footsteps get closer as they reach the door and Michael relaxes and replaces the gun right before the door swings open.

"Where have you been?" He asks casually as he easily makes his way to the kitchen area. He runs his fingers along the table before reaching the refrigerator door.

"Cleaning the sand out my car," Fiona huffs as she struts in.

Michael reaches in and grabs a yogurt out of the fridge. He opens it, and not bothering with a spoon tilts it back and takes a taste of it and frowns, his brow creasing.

"Yogurt gone bad?" Fiona questions him.

"No, I was just really hoping for blue berry this time," Michael sighs, and shuts the refrigerator door.

"Looks like you got some sun," Fiona observes, "Even with all the sun block I rubbed on you, or was it suntan lotion?"

"Thanks Fi," Michael states exasperated.

"It's okay Michael. I've got a bottle of aloe vera waiting for you when you finish your yogurt," she promises.

He lays down face first on the bed. He turns his head to the side and yawns feeling like he could melt into the sheets.

He can hear Fiona squeeze the aloe out of the tube and into her hands but it's still a shock as her hands make contact with his sun burned skin. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as she smoothes the cool gel across his shoulders. "Easy Fi," he pleads as she brushes against the bruise he got from last night.

"All done," She announces after a few more strokes and wipes her hands across the towel draped across his hips.

"Thanks," Michael mumbles into the pillow.

Fiona lays her face down beside his and waits until a tiny smile appears on Michael's lips. She inches closer and places a kiss to the corner of his mouth causing him to smile wider.

She pulls back and looks at him. He looks content for the moment. She lifts her hand and combs her fingers through his damp hair before trailing her fingertips down his face.

"You need a shave," She informs him.

"Yeah I know. I've been busy though," he says with a grin.

"I can do it for you," Fiona genuinely volunteers.

Michael's lips part as if to turn her down but Fiona's finger to his mouth stops him.

"Come on," she says and prods him in the side until he gets up.

She puts down the lid and sits Michael on the toilet making him the perfect height for her petite frame.

"Where's your shaving cream?" She asks gazing at the shelf on the wall and not finding anything.

"Underneath the sink. Razors are in the drawer," he tells her beginning to feel a little uneasy about letting her do this.

She turns the tap on letting the water warm up and fill the sink as she goes in search of her supplies.

She drapes a towel across Michael's chest and shoulders before dipping her hands into the water and patting his cheeks, dampening them.

Next she squirts the foam shaving cream into her hands and pauses. For one second Michael feared that he would get a face full of shaving cream so he was pleasantly surprised when Fiona just smeared a little onto his nose and giggled.

Michael tells her, "You're enjoying this far too much," and wipes his nose.

"Close your mouth unless you want to taste this cream," Fiona warns and he snaps his mouth shut just in time as Fiona slathers his face.

He can hear Fiona as she loudly washes the shaving cream off her hands in the water in the sink. He jerks as she her fingers grab him by the throat holding his head up.

"Easy Michael, it's not like I'm going to cut you or anything," she taunts. She waits as he breathes in a deep breath and lets it out before she makes her first stroke with the razor. He waits very patiently and very still as she continues but he flinches as she nicks him.

"Sorry," she exclaims and Michael can tell she hadn't meant to nick him.

She finishes in silence and wipes his face with the towel she draped him with before testing out her handiwork with her hand.

"Silky smooth," she states with a grin as she caresses his jaw line before leaning in and pressing her lips to his cheek and then the other and finally his lips.

She pulls back and departs just as quickly. Michael's brow creases in confusion wondering what she is up to.

Fiona returns after a couple of minutes and drops a stack of clean clothes onto his lap.

"Here, I'm going back to my place to grab a quick shower and pack a bag. I'll meet you back here in a couple of hours. Think you'll be alright by yourself?" She asks him casually.

"Yeah," he replies.

"Good. But if you need me before I get back, here's your cell phone," she states placing the phone into the palm of his hand.

"Thanks Fi," he says reaching out and brushes his hand against her arm.

"I'll be back in a little while," she promises and leaves. Michael smiles as he hears her lock the door behind her on the way out with her key. She didn't want anyone surprising him. He listens as her car cranks up and she drives out, gets out and shuts the gates and drives off.

He stands up and places the clothes on the sink along with his phone and lets the towel slip to the floor. He picks up the clothing one piece at a time and feels for the clothes tag and carefully steps into the clothing making sure to put them on correctly.

* * *

><p>After what felt like several hours and Michael still hasn't heard from Fiona, he flips open his phone and dials her number. After four rings it cuts to voicemail and he snaps the phone closed.<p>

"Where are you Fi?" He whispers to the empty loft. Two minutes later the phone buzzes in his hand, he answers it before the ringtone starts playing.

"Fi?"

"No Michael, it's your mother."

Michael wraps his hands around the phone and shakes it for a second before he composes himself and states, "Hey Ma."

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Sorry for the delay, life got busy with grocery shopping, grass cutting, and a girl's night out, among other things.


	5. You Up For A Ride?

**Part 5: You Up For A Ride? **

_Michael wraps his hands around the phone and shakes it for a second before he composes himself and states, "Hey Ma."_

"Well don't sound so thrilled Michael," Madeline complains at her son's lack of warmth in his greeting.

"Ma, it's . . . I'm a little busy at the moment," he states in way of explanation.

"Too busy? Is that any way to treat your mother?" Madeline criticizes.

"What's wrong Ma?" Michael asks getting to the point.

"What's wrong? Why does there have to be something wrong? Can't I just call my son to talk to him? To see how he's doing?" Madeline puts on her disappointment thick.

"Ma, I don't have time for this," Michael sighs.

"Well you had time to lay on the beach this morning," his mother complains.

"How do you - . . . Is Fiona there?" He questions after coming to that conclusion.

"I was trying to tell you but you didn't seem to have time to talk Michael!" Madeline's voice rises and Michael winces at both the tone and implication.

"Ma, is she there? Let me talk to her?" Michael asks nicely.

"Yes, Michael. She's right here," Madeline responds passing the phone off.

"Hi Michael," Fiona greets flippantly.

"Fiona," Michael replies coolly.

"I know, I know. My phone died," Fiona states in way of apology.

"Why are you at my mom's?"He asks quickly, dreading the answer.

"Just a little girl talk Michael," Fiona states evasively.

"Everything alright?" He asks, getting the feeling that something's going on.

"Of course. I'll be over soon honey," she informs him and hangs up before he can respond.

"He's fine," Fiona tells Madeline who is staring at her intently as if she could see right through her.

"Is that what the doctor said?" Madeline questions her. Fiona gives an absentminded nod of her head, distracted by the sound of a passing car.

"Judging by the way you keep glancing out the window I get the feeling that you didn't come over here just to talk and use my phone," Madeline tells Fiona and jabs her cigarette in her general direction.

"Nothing I can't handle," Fiona reassures her, and as she walks out the side door she whispers a sincere, "Thank you Madeline."

* * *

><p>"Fi!" Michael shouts into the phone but she has already hung up on him, her use of their emergency word automatically setting him on high alert.<p>

He snaps the phone shut and slides it into his pants pocket and begins pacing the floor, all the possible reasons Fiona would relay to him that she's in danger running through his mind.

He stops abruptly feeling the sudden urge to arm himself. He retrieves his SIG and he holds the gun in his palm feeling the reassuring weight of a fully loaded weapon and waits.

* * *

><p>"Someone's been following me," Fiona announces as she reaches the top steps of the loft. Michael swings open the door at the sound of her familiar voice.<p>

"And you led them here?" He questions her, a frown forming on his face.

Fiona brushes roughly past him, "I had no other choice. I haven't been able to shake them. They're very careful. They haven't gotten too close. It's seems they're just doing surveillance."

"Have you gotten a good look at them?" Michael asks feeling increasingly uneasy.

"Yeah, two guys in a black Mercedes," Fiona replies and Michael can hear her step over to the window, "They just drove by, but they'll be back in a few minutes. They never stop but they always come back. I first noticed them after I left my place."

"Does the Mercedes have a dent in the hood?" Michael asks.

"Yes. How can you possibly know that?" Fiona asks confused.

Michael stays quiet digesting this information.

"Our client that you helped Sam with the other day had first been contacted by two men for a job. They ran him down in a black Mercedes. He said he left a huge dent in the hood."

"I'm guessing they're not too happy about us foiling their plan. But why haven't they stepped in? They've had plenty of opportunities."

"They're not after you Fi."

"You think they're looking for you? How would they even know you're involved?"

"I don't know Fi," Michael says softly letting this bit of information sink in.

"Unless. . ." Michael starts but his voice trails off.

"Unless what?" Fiona asks impatiently.

"Unless they were using the client as a decoy to get to me. And when I didn't show up yesterday they've been tailing you to get to me."

"Why me? Why not Sam?" Fiona questions.

"Sam's gone down to Key West with his lady friend for a vacation."

"Well, why haven't they made a move?"

"They don't know I'm here."

"Well I think it's time you make your presence known and let us get some answers."

"You up for a ride?" Michael questions, tucking his gun in his pants, and sliding on his black Ray Bans.

* * *

><p>Fiona rides around carelessly waiting for her tail to make an appearance.<p>

"We've got company," Fiona informs Michael as she glances into the rearview mirror of her car.

"Black Mercedes?" He asks, straightening up in his seat eager to be a part of the action.

"Yep."

"Where?"

"Two car lengths behind a red Accord," Fiona replies, looking from the rearview mirror to the side and back over to Michael.

"Michael! No! Michael stop!" Fiona shouts as she watches as he slips off his sunglasses and starts to peel away the tape and bandage covering his eyes.

Michael tentatively opens his eyes before snapping them against the harsh light. Tears involuntarily slip pass his closed eyelids. He grimaces as they make his eyes sting worse. He reaches up to rub them but Fiona's hand latches onto his and she yells, "Stop! You'll make them worse than they are!"

"I can't do anything Fi if I can't see!" He yells back frustrated.

"Exactly! Which is why you're going to put that bandage right back over your eyes before you make yourself blind!"

Suddenly the car speeds up and Michael is sliding in his seat as Fiona whips the car around.

"Fi! What are you doing?" Michael questions as he feels the car speed up.

"If you can't behave yourself Michael, I'm taking you home. I can take care of our tail by myself," she threatens.

"Seriously?" Michael whines, eyes still closed, and the area around his eyes turning red. He wipes at his nose as it start to run. A bullet shatters the side view mirror on Michael's side. He forces his eyes to open.

A mirage of blurred shapes and colors assault his vision. He fights to keep his eyes open as they begin to water. The passing figures in the window make him feel lightheaded which quickly leads to motion sickness. He's gagging before he even has time to register that the car has stopped. He's hunched over breathing steadily through his nose trying to control the urge to vomit.

"Michael? Michael I think I lost them," Fiona speaks softly.

He slowly turns his head to look at her. "I _can't_… I can't see Fi. _Everything_ is blurred…"

His face holds such a look of desolation, Fiona reaches over and tenderly caresses his face with the palm of her hand and it's all she can do to keep from crying.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I'm so sorry for the delay. I've started a new job which has dominated my time and energy but I am enjoying it. I've also had a tad of writer's block. But I want to say a sincere thank you to _Daisy Day_ who read over this chapter and gives her encouragement and help generously. _Thank you!_


	6. Open Your Eyes

**Part 6: Open Your Eyes**

"Michael," Fiona declares easily, "You're going to be alright. It- It hasn't been long enough for your eyes to completely heal. It's going to take time."

She gently slides her hand over his face wiping the moisture from his face away. She laughs gently and his brow creases in confusion.

"You've got a terrible tan line across your face," she explains with a giggle.

Michael flings his head back against the headrest in frustration before letting his head loll to the side as he spoke to her, "That's not funny. This is not funny Fi."

Fiona can tell he's getting upset by the way he starts rubbing his forehead and pinching the bridge his nose.

"You've got a headache," she states her observation.

"Yeah," he breathes out softly.

"Here," she slides his sunglasses into his hands for him to put on, "Put these on. Lay back."

Fiona puts the car in drive and takes off.

After a few minutes of driving Michael's curiosity gets the best of him and finally asks, "Fi, where are we going?"

"You couldn't have waited one more day, could you Michael?" Fiona sighs. "I'm driving you to the doctor's. I'm going to let them take a look at you. See if they can do anything for you to make you feel better."

"I'm fine," he replies defensively.

"I can see that."

She parks the car, opens the door, and tugs on his arm, "Come on."

* * *

><p>Michael can hear Fiona as she speaks to the lady behind the counter at the doctor's office. She talks quickly and in no time she's tugging on his arm and pulling him out of his chair in the waiting room and dragging him into a exam room.<p>

The nurse sits him down on a table with paper that crinkles beneath him and she swiftly takes his blood pressure and other vital signs.

Then they make him wait for what seemed a small eternity before there's a soft rap on the door and the deep baritone voice of the doctor greets them.

"Mr. Westen, you weren't scheduled for a follow-up appointment until tomorrow. What brings you in today?"

"I can't see," he states without emotion.

"What do you mean you can't see?" The doctor asks seeking clarification.

"Everything's blurred."

"Okay, let's take a look, shall we?" The doctor states asking permission to examine Michael.

Michael hears the flip of the switch as the doctor turns some of the lights off, effectively dimming the amount of light in the room.

"Okay open your eyes," the doctor instructs and Michael squints through partially opened eyelids.

He flinches as the doctor's gloved fingers pry open his eyelid and shines a light into his eye. The doctor is nose to nose with Michael and Michael can feel the man's breath on his face as he exams Michael's eyes.

"Everything seems to be healing fine. Your eyes are a little bloodshot but that will get better in time," the doctor states and steps away flipping a switch which lights up a board with letters on it.

"Can you read any of these on this line," the doctor states.

Michael squints and tries to make out the blurry figures but he can't. Fiona steps in reminding the doctor, "He's been complaining of blurred vision and headaches."

"Can you make out any of the very top line?"

"Everything's blurred," Michael states again getting irritated.

"Well that might be from all the tears," the doctor states simply and passes Michael a tissue to dab at his eyes.

"I'll be back. I want to get some eye drops for you to try."

After the door shuts Fiona comes to stand in front of Michael who is dangling off the exam table. She puts her hands of each side of his face and leans in and gently places a kiss to each eyelid before taking the tissue from his hand and drying his eyes and face. She finishes and slides to his side and grabs a hold of his hand and rests it in between hers.

The doctor steps back in and instructs Michael to tilt his head back and the man keeps Michael's eyelids open with his fingers and squeezes the drops into his eyes.

Michael instantly hisses in pain, and his eyes start to water worse than before.

"Give it a few seconds to start working."

Finally the prescription strength eye drops start working and Michael can feel the comforting numbness of the medication.

"They don't hurt anymore," he states relieved.

"Good. Now blink a few times and tell me what you see."

Michael does as he's told and concentrates. Finally he's able to read the very top line of letters out loud, the largest ones and both he and the doctor seem pleased.

"Take it easy for the next few days Mr. Westen. It's going to take a little while for your vision to return to what it was. You may leave the bandage off. No strenuous activity. No reading. No rubbing or touching your eyes. Always wear sunglasses while outdoors. The eye drops are yours to keep, use them as you need them. Call me if you have any problems."

"Thank you," Michael responds and slides off the exam table and he puts on his sunglasses. Fiona slides her hand into his and he follows her out.

"Feel better?" She asks getting in the car.

"Yes. Thanks Fi."

* * *

><p>"Did you eat anything for lunch?" Fiona calls out across the loft, asking the mundane question to break up the silence.<p>

Michael doesn't reply so Fiona assumes he didn't and offers to cook, "What would you like to have for dinner? It'll be my treat."

"Michael?" She calls out, looking around for him. She moves out of the kitchen and makes her way to the tiny bathroom in the corner of loft.

"Michael, do you hear me?" She calls again before pausing, listening as the water tap cuts off in the bathroom.

He steps out and she meets him, her hand coming up to his face, "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Yeah, sorry Fi. How about we go out to dinner?"

"Sure," she responds, surprised.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Life's been, well life. It's been busy but good. :) Thanks to Daisy Day for reading over this, you're great! Thanks for reading!<strong>


	7. The Night Can Make You Blind

**Part 7: The Night Can Make You Blind**

The cell phone in Michael's pocket vibrates and starts singing, _"If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain…"_

Michael gives a puzzled look and Fiona laughs, "I thought you'd like a little warning to who's calling you so I set a different ringtone for each of us. Guess who's that is."

Michael flips the phone open, "Sam?"

"Hey brother."

"What's up Sam?"

"Oh, just checking up on my buddy. How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine. But a black Mercedes has been following Fi. I think they're looking for me though."

"You? Why?"

"I don't know."

"You want me to come back?"

"No. No. We can take care of this."

"Mikey…"

"I'm fine Sam. Been cleared by the doctor and everything."

"Good. Good. I'm glad to hear that. Put Fi on the phone."

"What?" Fiona asks as Michael passes her the phone.

"Sam doesn't believe me," Michael sighs.

"Hi Sam," Fi smiles, "No he's fine… I promise… Bye Sam," she states, snaps the phone shut and tosses it back to Michael.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, I forgot," Fiona apologized.

* * *

><p>Michael sits at the round patio table at Carlito's in silence. His hand is at his mouth as he quietly contemplates his next move. The sun is slowly going down and the lights of the café shine brighter casting a soft glow on the patrons.<p>

Fiona watches Michael carefully between bites of her meal. The silence finally gets to her and she breaks it with a question.

"What do you fear Michael?"

The question catches him off guard and he takes a moment to formulate his response.

"I fear… being alone. I fear the unknown."

"But isn't that what makes life exciting? Not knowing what's going to happen every second?" Fiona counters.

Michael smiles slightly shaking his head, "It terrifies me, not knowing. So many possibilities, so many ways it all can go wrong."

"What went wrong Michael? Why are you afraid of the dark? What is it that you see when you sleep? What could possibly trouble you so?"

"It was a long time ago Fi."

* * *

><p>After dinner, the ride back to the loft is done in silence. Michael gets out of the car and slowly makes his way up to the loft as Fi pulls the car in and shuts the gate.<p>

Outside a ping is heard and Fiona decks behind the car for cover. _Pew-Ping! Pew-Ping!_ The shots fired using a silencer pepper the car sending sparks to the ground where Fiona is crouched.

As Fiona takes gunfire outside, Michael doesn't hear what's going on but instead notices that he's not alone in the loft.

His back stiffens as the sound of a gun being cocked comes from his left just inside the loft.

Fiona's caught without a weapon and she curses the fact that Michael took the keys so he could unlock the loft and she has no bobby pin to pick the trunk lock, leaving her no chance of reaching any of her guns.

Suddenly the firing stops and she dares to peer around the car and finds herself staring down the barrel of a handgun.

It motions for her stand and she slowly rises to her feet. The man behind the gun looks her up and down, liking what he sees. Her body involuntarily shivers under his cold gaze. She instantly recognizes him as the driver of the black Mercedes that's been following her.

"Move," he demands in a smooth Russian accent and they both slowly make their way up the loft stairs.

* * *

><p>Michael slowly raises his hands up in a neutral pose, letting the man with the weapon come closer. Finally the man is within reach, Michael's hands fly out snatching the gun from the man's hands and breaking the guy's wrist in the process. The man cries out in pain, falling to one knee clutching his injured limb.<p>

Michael blinks rapidly trying to clear his vision, yelling, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man laughs, causing Michael's brow to crease in confusion.

"You don't remember or is your eye sight really that bad?" The man's thick Russian accent makes Michael's hand waver ever so slightly. The man grins as he slowly rises to his feet cradling his wrist to his body.

"What?...How?..." Michael stutters as realization dawns on him.

"I've been looking for you a long time Michael."

"Your girlfriend, she takes good care of you, yes?" The Russian looks around at the loft and the stumble hints of a woman.

"Fiona," Michael breathes out her name, fear stealing the air from his lungs.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks to Daisy Day for her encouragement and help. Thanks to all for reading! To be continued...


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